


A Spear in the Heart

by baranduin



Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 11:12:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baranduin/pseuds/baranduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the hobbits and Aragorn make their way to Rivendell, Merry is troubled by his memories and strange dreams of what happened on the Barrow Downs. With Aragorn’s help, he discovers the connection between “the spear in my heart” and the brooch Tom found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Spear in the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been sitting on my hard drive for a few years now. I'd like to go on with it but I don't know if I will be able to, writer's block being a big issue. But I thought I'd post it because I'm tired of reading it over and over on my hard drive!

Merry said little during dinner at the Prancing Pony. Perhaps that is no earthshaking statement, given the customary behavior exhibited by hobbits while eating, whether breakfast, lunch or dinner (and any meal in between). But even by hobbit standards, it was unusual; Merry had not gotten his nickname undeservedly. So, Merry was a little quiet while he and his friends devoured their dinner after their long, hard day, and it was a little unusual for him to be so. At least, it was unusual once the meal drew to a satisfactory conclusion and the blackberry tart lay not in its round baking tin but distributed evenly (very evenly, to within an eighth of an inch per portion) in the four hobbits’ stomachs.

No one noticed it, not really, not even when Merry chose not to join the others in the Common Room. Not that there was all that much to notice, or really anything to see or hear in the slightest. Merry hadn’t been a successful co-conspirator (their leader in fact) for nothing. So there really was nothing to notice. Merry made sure of that.

The thing was, he needed to be alone. He needed to … what? Think? No, it wasn’t that. At least, he wouldn’t have called it thinking; it went beyond that though he had no proper name for what he needed to do. Just as he was not able to put a name to what happened in the Barrow and afterward in the sunshine. He remembered that now as he slipped out the Pony’s front door and padded down the broad steps into the quiet courtyard.

_Remember._

Yes, that was it. Merry remembered. At that exact moment, when Pippin was starting to perform his well-received Hobbiton tales to the Bree hobbits, Merry stood in the courtyard’s dark peace and knew two things. He knew that he remembered something, and he knew that the act of his remembering made no sense in the green world of his young life.

It wasn’t the spear in his heart that preoccupied Merry as he wandered the quiet streets of Bree though it was there in the background of his mind. No, not yet. He would not go there yet. All in good time. He was moving toward danger but not too directly; now, where had he heard that before? Oh, yes, it was something Gandalf said. Frodo told him so when he finally spilled the beans.

So lovely. The many-shaded blue stones had sparkled in the sun. They seemed happy resting in Tom’s old hand. And why not, after being hidden away, captive in the Barrow for too many dark, lonely years?

**************

“My lady, you dropped this.”

She turned around and smiled down at the eager face and raised hand. She was beautiful and tall, beautiful enough almost to put the brooch to shame.

“Thank you,” she said gravely and took the brooch. “Please tell me your name, so I can thank you as you deserve.” 

The hobbit drew himself up very straight and tall, his face only a little red. Then he bowed. “Merroc Oldbuck at your service, my lady.”

She curtsied, one hand pulling her heavy skirts aside. “I am very happy to make your acquaintance, Master Oldbuck,” the lady said. “And I thank you for rendering me such a service. I would have been grieved to lose this brooch.”

The hobbit beamed at that. The lady was not only beautiful, she was courteous and kind though her voice was oddly accented, not akin to the other Big People Merroc had come to know during his short time at Fornost.

“Please, my lady,” he said, warmed by her regard and eager to befriend her (and have her befriend him for, in truth, he was a little lonely). “Please, my friends call me Merry, if you like.”

She beamed. “I do like. May I ask you a question?”

*******************

_It was all muddled. There was fear and running, running up a long, steep hill for so long, trying to keep up with her until he knew his lungs would burst, explode with searing fire. Always he knew they were coming for them. That is what kept him going. And it was dark; it seemed that the air was spreading the darkness before his eyes, not because of the position of the sun. It was more than that; something was breathing behind him and that breath was causing the darkness, stealing his own clean inhalations away and turning his sturdy legs to stone._

That’s what Merry remembered of his dark dream while lying in the Bree street. He could not get it out of his mind after he ran back to the Pony and met Strider, and everyone settled down in the little parlour for the night on their new guide’s recommendation. 

“Was I running up the Barrow hill?” he wondered as he listened to Sam snoring softly, his eyes growing heavy with sleep. “I don’t remember doing that. I don’t. That didn’t happen, at least not like that. And there wasn’t any lady with us on the hill. Not even after, when Tom came. It was just Tom, not Goldberry too. Nothing makes sense.”

He wanted to think more about it and try to find some order in it all, not that he knew what he meant by “all.” It was just that its significance was important; he knew it in his bones. And why had he dreamed it in the dark Bree street with the Black Riders stooping over him, as though he’d called them to him? But now sleep was not just tugging at his eyelids, it was drowning him and the pull was so sweet and insistent that he stopped trying to resist. He surrendered.

**********************

“… your name, my lady?”

In the middle of the night, Merry woke, the question still clear in his ears. He sat straight up, still half-asleep, and stared at the fire until Strider broke into his thoughts.

“You were just dreaming, Master Brandybuck. Just dreaming.”

Merry nodded without turning to face Strider, still preoccupied, trying to catch at the fast-dissolving strands of his dream.

Strider spoke again. “You are safe here at the Inn, that is, as safe as you can be given our danger. Do not fear. It was only a dream, and no surprise, after your adventure outside this evening. The Black Breath’s effects can disturb thoughts and dreams; they can linger long.” Strider stopped then and did not speak again. Merry lay back down on the floor and pulled his blanket to his chin, closing his eyes and willing away his confusion. He tried to sink back into sleep and, even better, recapture his dream, his mysterious, wonderful dream that felt too real to be mere fancy.

“But I wasn’t scared,” he mumbled under his breath so quietly that he barely even heard it himself.

******************

“I am called Wynna, Master … Merry,” she said a few days later when Merry managed to contrive to speak with her alone as they both walked outside in the late afternoon sunshine. 

So his pretty lady’s name was Wynna. Much to Merry’s delight, she turned out not to be Dunedain. It was not that he disliked the Big People he’d met in this grand place, just she seemed a little closer to his own kind, not that that made any sense for she was a Big Person herself. But not much made sense to a small hobbit who was away from his home in the Shire for the first time in his short life; everything was so big and grand and he was so alone. He rarely saw the others; they had little time for him. And it wasn’t that anyone had been unkind to him, though perhaps some had been a little dismissive, treating him like a child. _You’re barely in your tweens, silly old thing. You oughtn’t even be here. You’re lucky the others didn’t send you packing back to the Shire when they found you following them._

They stopped and sat beneath a spreading tree about a mile from Fornost’s fortress walls. The North Downs marched away before them. The day was cool but not unpleasantly so, and decidedly pleasant for Merry after being cooped up in the hot kitchens, peeling potatoes for most of the day. 

“Please, Lady Wynna,” he asked, “where are you from? You’re not like the others; at least I don’t think you are. Oh, dear, that was rude of me, wasn’t it? If my grandfather heard me say that, I’d never hear the end of it.”

She laughed. “Not at all. I shall tell your grandsire just so if ever I meet him. And anyway, you’re right. I’m not one of the people of Westernesse. I do not come from the west. I come from far away to the east across the Misty Mountains. My people live in the grasslands between the mountains and the great wood in a land called Eotheod. May I ask you something?”

“Of course!”

“You are one of the holbytlan, are you not?” She leaned forward as she spoke, her eyes sparkling.

It sounded queer on Merry’s tongue when he repeated the strange word to himself later, and yet it gave him a thrill of something he could not identify but did not find alarming. Just the opposite, in fact.

“I do not know though it sounds familiar,” he said. “We call ourselves halflings; some call us hobbits. That’s a bit like … holbytlan, was it?”

“Hobbits.” She savored the word, her cheeks dimpling when she smiled again. “I have always wanted to meet a holbytla … a hobbit, that is. I think you must be the same folk. My people tell many tales of the little folk who once upon a time lived in holes in the ground south of us and near to the Gladden Fields. I do not know if any linger there now, but then I have never ridden that far.” She touched the brooch on her shoulder, then tossed her braid of yellow hair to trail down her back. “I always like to think of them when I look at this, for it is formed in the shape of a flowering iris, which I have heard grows abundantly near the Gladden Fields. Sometimes I have even thought that perhaps one of your people fashioned it. But I see from your eyes that you have not come from there though I believe you are far from your home, just as I am. Will you tell me of your people and where they now dwell, how they came to be on this side of the mountains? I have long wondered about such a thing. I had heard it was so and my people tell many rumors of how it came to be, and here you are. Oh, dear, I talk too much. So my mother always tells me.”

“I will tell you if I can,” Merry said, wishing for the very first time in his life that he’d listened a little more carefully to his grandfather’s lessons on hobbit history. There had always seemed an endless expanse of time stretching out before him, time enough to learn such things.

They were quiet for a little while, both pondering the strange fate that had brought them together where even a year before neither had ever looked to come. “What are you doing here?” was the next question, but they both said it at the same time, in concert. 

When they were able to stop laughing, Merry gestured with one hand. “Ladies first, we always say in the Shire.”

Wynna raised her chin. “I am a shieldmaiden of the Eotheod and do not crave such favors.” She shrugged. “Or I would be one if my parents would let me. They say I am too young. I am afraid they must be very angry with me.”

“You ran away, didn’t you?”

She nodded. Her grey eyes widened with sudden understanding. “So did you!”

It turned out that they’d both managed to sneak their way unofficially to this part of the world, the safest place for mortals in the north of Middle-earth, for here was the strongest remnant of the Dunedain in the dark days when Angmar threatened ruin. No wonder they’d turned toward each other in immediate friendship.

“Merroc Oldbuck!” 

Merry looked up and then scrambled to his feet when he saw who had come for him. Oh, bother, he’d forgotten the time. It wasn’t that Cook was unpleasant exactly. It was better to say that he was more than a little eager to fulfill his responsibility of seeing that one stray hobbit toed the line and came to no harm.

“Hullo, Cook!” Well, a friendly greeting never hurt one’s chances in Merry’s experience. It was worth a try. “Lovely afternoon, isn’t it?”

Sadly, Merry’s attempt did not bear fruit, unless you called the tightening of Cook’s mouth and the indignant quivering of his several chins a handful of apples. And while Merry was a hopeful sort, he was also prone to fits of common sense, no doubt a trait inherited from his grandfather. He jumped up and brushed the grass from the seat of his breeches. “Good bye, Lady Wynna. I must go.”

“Sooner would be better than later, Master Hobbit,” Cook said and turned toward the fortress and its vast (invitingly vast, Merry had to admit) kitchens. “Those potatoes won’t peel themselves.”

Merry sighed as he turned to follow, looking over his shoulder at Wynna one last time, cheering a little at the wink and smile she sent his way. “More potatoes. Not that I’m complaining about potatoes.”

“I should think not, Merry,” Cook said. “Nothing like a roasted potato. Or a mashed potato. Or …”

Sometimes Merry thought (to himself only of course, no reason to encourage the Man) that Cook might have a little hobbit blood in his family. He must remember to inquire after the man’s genealogy some day. And after all, he was decidedly short for one of the Big People. Cook’s next question, coming after they’d gone beyond Wynna’s hearing, encouraged Merry’s suspicion.

“And what have you learned this afternoon, my young friend? Tell me everything! I do not remember ever seeing the horse folk from between the Mountain and the Wood here in Fornost.”

*****************

“Go to sleep. I’ll watch.”

“It’s all right, Frodo,” Merry said the second night from Bree as the hobbits and Strider made camp near the edge of the Chetwood. “I’ll take first watch.”

“Are you sure, cousin? You’ve seemed awfully tired the last few days, ever since we left Tom, I’d say.”

“We’re all tired!” Merry said, a bit more sharply than he’d intended the words to come out. But he didn’t realize it until he’d spoken and Frodo had drawn back in surprise.

“Very well! Wake me in a few hours.”

Merry watched them all prepare for sleep, ranging themselves around the small camp fire. Soon they dropped off and Merry had his thoughts to himself, just as he wanted.

***************

“I eavesdropped one night at home after they all thought I was in my bed asleep. But I wasn’t. I snuck out of my room and hid just outside my father’s study, where they all were sitting and talking and arguing. All my father’s brothers and cousins had come. You see, there’d been news from King’s Norbury, Fornost that is, not asking for aid outright, they wouldn’t ask hobbits for that. It was more that they were telling the Shire folk that the trouble with Angmar was on the boil on again. Well, the message didn’t say boil exactly.”

Wynna laughed. It was several days after they’d first sat under the spreading tree, several days of potato peeling and carrot scraping for Merry. All the while more rumors of the Enemy and his approach spread throughout Fornost. And now they’d found each other again, only this time Wynna had managed it, for she’d sent to the kitchens for a pitcher of milk and a plate of cakes, asking specifically for Master Oldbuck to bring them. It was a good thing, too, for the day was rainy and cold, a good one for friends to exchange confidences, which they were doing as quickly as they could in between devouring the cakes. Who knew when Cook would demand Merry’s return?

“Go on, Merry. I’ve done the same a few times. More than a few times. After all, how else can you find out things you need to know?”

“That’s what I always say. Well, some of them wanted to go help the men though most didn’t. Most said that it wasn’t hobbit business and, anyway, what could we do? But some – my father’s youngest brother Tom was the leader – he said that he would go and offer his bow, that he was a good shot and surely the walls of Fornost could find a place for him. So in the end, he and a few others decided to go and made their preparations.”

“And you followed.”

“Yes.”

“How did you manage it?”

Merry lay back against the cushions of the window seat and looked outside. If anything, the grey clouds had drawn even closer and the rain pelted harder against the small panes of glass. At home, that would have been a cue for him to take a handful of apples, go into his father’s barn and, nestling against the side of his favorite cow, dream about the mountains and the great forests he’d heard lay beyond them. 

“Oh,” Merry said, his hands clasped behind his head, “it was easy. I’ve had practice.”

“What?” Wynna tossed a cushion at him. “You’ve run away from home to the north before?”

Merry took in a breath and let it out in a gentle puff, deflecting the cushion with a practiced hand. He gave Wynna a sidelong look. “Well … not exactly but you knew that.”

“It’s possible.”

“No, but I have given my parents the slip before, er, you know, to be able to go about my own business on occasion.”

“I see.”

“Yes, I rather think you do.”

They liked to laugh together, there was such an easy feel to it. Merry still wasn’t quite used to it. He’d never in his wildest dreams (and he had a fecund and colorful imagination) thought he’d get on so easily with one of the Big People, yet here he was and here Wynna was. It was as though they’d been faunts together in the gentle Shire spring. He suspected that if he’d ever had a sister, it would have been like this.

*************

“Master Brandybuck? Merry?”

Merry’s attention snapped to Strider’s hand waving in front of his face. “Sorry! Not much of a guard, am I?” 

Strider squatted on his hunkers before Merry, looking deep into his eyes in a way that made Merry want to squirm. Only his desire to keep up his appearance of normality kept him still. 

But Strider’s voice was gentle when he spoke, and Merry relaxed a bit. “I fear you are still suffering the effects of your encounter with the Black Riders.”

Merry shook his head. “I don’t think so. No, it can’t be that.”

Strider smiled. “Then what is it? I do not mean to pry, but it is my duty to look to your well-being, and I cannot help thinking that could be improved.”

Merry sighed. Drat the man; he was a little too keen-eyed for Merry’s comfort, rather like his old grandfather Rorimac. “I do not wish to be a burden. We’ve other fish to fry.”

“Keeping silence can increase burdens, not just to you but to us all. We have many miles before we reach Rivendell. Will you not open your heart to me, as much as you will? I may be able to help.”

Merry laughed in a brief bark. “I’m not quite sure how to begin. It’s all been so strange.”

Strider moved away and sat next to Merry instead of continuing to crouch in front of him. There. Merry could look into the fire as he spoke. That was better.

“Begin where you like, Merry. I shall try to keep up with you.”

“Well, I think … I’m not sure, but I think it began on the Barrow Downs. I know that makes no sense.”

“Tell me more, and we shall decide what makes sense. The Barrow Downs is an evil place though it was not always so. Tyrn Gorthad it was once called, a peaceful resting place for princes of Cardolan before evil things walked the green hills and broke into old tombs. And things might have gone very ill for you there had not Bombadil appeared, so it does not surprise me that you are still troubled by it.”

“Yes, you’re right. Everything went all wrong there. No, wait. What am I saying?” Merry looked intently at the fire. It was very bright. “The brooch. It was so beautiful, and now I cannot stop thinking of it and dreaming of it and of her.”

With that, Merry launched into as clear an account as he could manage, telling Strider of his dreams and thoughts. He did not use the word “memory” though it was on the tip of his tongue several times. When he reached the end of his account, Strider knelt by the fire, feeding it and building it up again. He turned to face Merry when he finished, rubbing bark and loose soil from his hands.

Merry grew nervous under the Man’s even gaze. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Strider answered. “Do you know what happens when Elves die?”

“Thought they didn’t. Isn’t that the point?”

“Oh, yes, they can be killed. And when that happens, when an Elf travels to the Halls of Mandos in the Uttermost West, he is offered the choice of return. He can return to his body and to his life. I had not thought it was possible for mortals. What am I saying? It did happen once. Though it was different for Beren.”

“Strider, I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about now. You lost me at mortals. Are you saying that I’ve lived before, that I was this Merroc Oldbuck?”

“Strange thought, isn’t it, Meriadoc Brandybuck?” How unnerving the man’s gaze could be. “But it grows late and you must sleep a while. We have far to go tomorrow, and the walking will be hard. We must cross the marshes.”

“Well, that’s most unfair of you to stop!”

“I know. I am sorry. We will talk again. But now I must think on what you have told me. Best would be to discuss this with Elrond, but that will have to wait until we reach Rivendell.”

“But …”

“Sleep, Merry. I will keep watch. Your memories will occupy me very well.” Merry lay down and Strider repeated his command several times in an ever-quieting voice, laying his hand across Merry’s brow and stroking it gently. Merry slept, Strider’s voice murmuring “memories” echoing in his mind.

******************

Wynna was frowning at the tall man standing before her. She was not just frowning; she was downright scowling, a proverbial thundercloud settling across her face. 

Merry watched from behind the stable door, making sure he was well hidden in its shadow. He’d gotten leave from Cook to visit his pony and had left the kitchen with a handful of carrots stuck in his jacket pocket. Though the men of King’s Norbury were fond of all beasts and treated them well, Merry never felt easy in his mind unless he was able to visit Brownie frequently. He knew she must feel strange in this enormous place, even with the other hobbit ponies to keep her company.

And so he’d come, carrots in his pocket and a lump or two of sugar in his hand, only to find that Wynna was there too, and clearly unhappy about something. Merry listened.

“Brother, you shame me.”

Ah, yes, they looked very alike, with the same clear features and spirited expressions. Wynna had said her brother was here; actually it was he whom Wynna had followed in secret, dressed as a boy while tracking the riders until it was too late for Holda to send her home without upsetting the entire journey. She’d told Merry that Holda had been very angry with her, angrier than she’d ever seen him before, which was saying a lot for she had plagued him all her life. He’d called her a nuisance before giving in to the obvious and letting her continue on with them. He’d decided that their need – to seek out Elrond of Imladris for his wisdom was known far and wide, even as far as the lands between the mountains and the wood – was more pressing than turning back to see Wynna safely home where she belonged. Wynna said Holda had frequently questioned that decision, especially when they’d had to change the direction of their journey and ended up so far afield, many leagues past Imladris and now seemingly caught at Fornost while all waited for the men of Carn Dum to move even farther south than they already had.

This afternoon, Merry saw the irritation plain on Holda’s face and heard it in his voice though he seemed to be trying to keep a tight rein over his temper. Merry rather admired that. He waited to see what would happen, barely daring to breathe from his hidden place.

Holda said, “Sister, you know that is not my way with you. But I must command you in this for your own good.”

Wynna’s face was very red. “It’s not fair.”

Holda raised an eyebrow and turned a little red himself. “That is true. I deem there are many things that are not fair in this world, such as sneaking about like a thief in the night when you have been bidden to remain at home where you would be safe. Shall I say more on this?”

Wynna pursed her lips. “But Brego will pine if I do not ride him.”

“And I have told you, I will ride with you when I can, but I will not have you going about on your own.”

“Brother, it is driving me mad. Do you know what I must do every day? I must sit in a room and sew with the other women. And they correct me. All the time. It is unbearable.”

Holda smiled, just a quick one that Merry almost missed. “That is punishment indeed, though I fear it is more distressing for your companions, considering your skill with the needle.”

Wynna stood straight, her hands clenched at her side. Merry thought she was magnificent in her anger, though for some reason Holda smiled again, broadly this time as he listened to Wynna speak. “I will ride. I will not stay trammeled here like a songbird in a cage. I am no coward.”

Holda stepped a little closer, then bent down until brother and sister were nose to nose. “I have not called you so. But. You will ride when I or someone else can accompany you. You are not a fool, Wynna. You know the danger. I will not have you off somewhere I cannot look after you. Mother and father will have my head if I do not keep you safe. And it may be many weeks or months before we can return home or even try for Rivendell again.”

“I could go with her.” Merry did not remember thinking he would say such a thing, but before he realized he was going to do it, his offer was out of his mouth. The pair sprang apart and watched his approach.

“Merry! Oh, yes, that is a good idea,” Wynna said, greeting Merry by bending down and kissing his cheek. “Thank you! See, Holda? I will have a companion and it will not disturb your own duties, which is good for I know you are very busy. Merry will go with me.”

Holda approached Merry and knelt down, staring at him with a clear-eyed directness that made Merry go red as a beet. Finally, after inspecting Merry from head to toe, he spoke with courteous words and expression. “I have not seen you before though I believe I am acquainted with your kinsmen, the stout bowmen of the Shire who have come to the aid of Fornost. Do I speak aright, Master Holbytla?”

Merry swallowed. “Yes, that’s my Uncle Tom and all that’s come here.”

“And you would be my sister’s protector while she rides out?”

Merry nodded. “I would. Merroc Oldbuck at your service and your sister’s.” He bowed.

Holda stood up, a strange expression on his face. “Well, Master Oldbuck, let me tell you this. I have heard the holbytlan speaking together during the evening meal. They spoke of the one who followed them like a thief in the night until they could not send him home, though he was too young to come to Fornost in such dark days.”

Merry and Wynna exchanged a look but kept quiet. 

“Drat,” thought Merry. 

“Caught,” thought Wynna.

Holda nodded. “I thought as much. I believe your Uncle Tom called you a … tweenager. A foolish tweenager who ought to be set to cleaning out the Mathom House in Michel Delving. He grew very excited when he said this thing and slammed his fist on the table. Though I do not understand in full the meaning of this word tweenager (or much of what else followed except for mathom), I suspect it means that you are not of age and therefore not a fit guardian for my sister, who is also not of age.”

Merry said, trying to sound far more assured than he felt, “I am 25 years old, my lord.”

Holda’s mouth gaped. “What are you about, Master Merroc? I am 25 myself. You are nowhere near that age. I have a mind to speak with your uncle and tell him you have been spreading untruths.”

Merry clenched his fists. “I am not a liar. I don’t lie. I just don’t. I am 25. We just look a little young. And my uncle was right. I am a tweenager.”

“Explain that.”

Merry looked down at the ground a minute. Well, there was no other course he could follow. Holda had to lean close to hear him for he mumbled his words and ran them all together to get it over with. “We do not come of age until we turn 33 and are called tweenagers once we reach 21.”

Holda jerked his chin at Wynna. “So this is your companion? Your guardian? What say you, sister?”

Merry spoke for her. “I am quite old for my age.”

Holda looked between Merry and Wynna, clearly weighing them up in his mind as they stood before him, the same exact mutinous expressions on their faces. Finally, he sighed heavily and then spoke.

“Here is my judgment, and not only for you, Wynna, but also for you, Master Merroc. It seems you are in sore need of it. You may ride together but only within sight of the fortress walls. That should give your horse and pony enough exercise. You may not go beyond those bounds or it will go ill with you, both of you. Can you live with that, sister?”

Wynna grinned and fell on Holda, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and squeezing. “Yes, I think so. What do you think, Merry?”

Merry grinned back. “It’ll do. And I will look after her, my lord. I swear it to you, I will look after your sister and guard her from any harm.”

Holda’s grin faded and his expression became grave. He clasped Merry’s shoulder and gave it a little shake. “Well said, my friend. Well said. Then I shall have no worries.”

“She is as a sister to me now.”

Holda shouted with laughter, holding his sides as Wynna glared at him. He said, in between shouts, “May you have better luck with her, my friend. We shall see how you manage, we shall see …”


End file.
